


All Ears

by B1nary_S0lo



Series: Rora Surana [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkwardness, Bad Puns, Elf Ears, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B1nary_S0lo/pseuds/B1nary_S0lo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair realizes that he's never seen Rora's ears. Not even once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Ears

Alistair glanced over at Rora, walking beside him, and wondered what he should say. It was dusk, and already the shadows in the forest on the outskirts of their camp were deepening. A flicker of flame gleamed in her hand, lighting the path ahead.

As was her habit, she was quiet, brow furrowed, lost in some private thought of her own. Interrupting her had never been a problem for him before. It took her a moment to respond sometimes, but she always seemed like she enjoyed the distraction of a foolish joke or wry comment. Finding words had never been a problem either. He would just say whatever popped into his head, and, amazingly, she was glad to listen. It was easy talking to her.

But ever since the first time they’d kissed, everything had become more difficult. Her silences were more intimidating. Finding words to pull her back was harder. It was like his brain was full of heat and fog, and he couldn’t concentrate. Kept getting distracted by stupid things, like the slope of her shoulders and the way she pursed her lips when she was considering something, and by the fact that she could be thinking about _anything_. She could be thinking about _him_ , which, good or bad, was a frightening prospect.

And then there was the whole new range of options available to him—the physical ones. He’d thought this would be exciting but it was more like terrifying.

He flexed his fingers, watched the firelight flicker on her face. Take now, for example. The two of them. In the forest. Alone. He felt like he should do something. Like he was _expected_ to do something. Take her hand, for example. It was right there, just a few inches from his own, swinging at her side. It would be so easy to just reach over and lace his fingers with hers. But, what if she noticed his hand was sweaty? What if he fumbled the attempt and looked foolish? He swallowed.

He couldn’t take the silence anymore, so he spoke.

“Do you know what this situation reminds me of?” he said.

She blinked, coming back from whatever far away place she’d been in. At first he thought, _Oh no, I_ _’ve annoyed her, I shouldn’t have interrupted_. But then, as usual, she grinned.

“No,” she said. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

He grinned back, unreasonably happy about her sarcasm.

“It reminds me of what the mage said to her lover.”

Her smile widened. “What did she say?”

“Do I _light_ your fire?”

She groaned, but her eyes were still bright. “That has to be your worst one yet,” she said.

“I’m going for a record,” he said. “I intend to go down in history as the world’s punniest Grey Warden.”

“You’re a horrible person,” she said.

He pretended to pout. “Oh, my lady,” he said. “That certainly _burns._ ”

She giggled and the flame in her palm went out as she took a playful swipe at him. He grabbed her wrist in retaliation, barely finding it in the near dark. She stumbled and fell against him, still laughing. She pressed her face into his chest. He could feel her body’s vibrations fade with her laughter. They stood there without moving.

He was hyper aware of her pressed against him, of her hands clinging to the fabric of his sleeves, of her head resting against his torso. Unsteadily, he wrapped his arms around her. He could feel the rhythm of her breathing. Feel her sigh.

His head roared again with that same panic and indecision as he held her. This was nice, but was it enough? Was she expecting more? Her fingers tightened along his arms, and he saw her raise her head.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned down, catching her mouth before she looked away again. She responded immediately, lips moved with his, fingers gripping his arms like she might lose her balance.

 _Right decision, Alistair,_ he thought vaguely. _Good job._

Her arms came up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to her level, as his own hands found the small of her back. He could never get over how soft she was, how delicate, such a contrast to who she was on the field. Couldn’t get over the way her breath tickled his whiskers, the floral smell of her hair, her soft hands against the back of his neck.

He sighed and moved his lips to her jawline, trailing down to her neck. It was the first time he’d done it, but he was gratified when he pressed kisses into the soft skin there, and he felt her shudder. Emboldened, he moved one hand to her face, laced fingers in her hair to expose her ear—

Abruptly, she turned her head, pulling away. He opened his eyes.

She stared at the ground, face flushed. One of his arms was still wrapped around her waist, his other hand still hovering next to her hairline.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“Nothing,” she said. She looked up, smiled apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Should I keep going, or…?”

She stretched on tiptoe to capture his lips again before he could answer. _That_ _’s one way to respond,_ he thought as his arm tightened on her back once more, his other hand cupped the side of her head—

Once again, she pulled away. He blinked.

“Rora?” he said. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said again. She gave him a rather forced-looking smile. “It’s getting late”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. He released his hold on her, backing up slightly. “If you want to go back to camp…”

She smiled again, a more genuine one this time. Apologetic. She squeezed his arm.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll lead the way.”

Once again, fire flickered in her palm. She turned and headed back the way they’d come. It took a moment before Alistair remembered to move his feet and follow her.

 

The following day, Alistair agonized over what he might have done wrong. It had all been going so well. When had it changed?

Admittedly, everything between them still seemed fine. That morning, when she greeted him at breakfast, she smiled and squeezed his hand when the others weren’t looking. Their mealtime conversation—which would win in a fight, a Wyvern or a Griffon—was normal too. What, then, was the problem?

He watched her cross to the other side of camp, saw her brush a loose strand of hair out of her face, and it came to him. The trouble had started when he tried to touch her ears. No, not just touch them. _Expose_ them.

His eyes narrowed, studying her. She was speaking with Zevran. Now that he thought about it… he’d never seen her ears. Not once. He hadn’t considered before how odd this was. She was an elf. They were sort of known for their ears. And yet, hers were always completely hidden beneath her hair.

The more he watched her, the more he wondered about it. They must be very small, he thought. Just look at Zevran. His hair was even longer than hers and there was no way he could’ve hid his. What must hers look like?

“My, my, Alistair,” said Wynne, who was passing by. Her expression was sly. “Whatever are you staring at?”

Blood rushed to his cheeks. He realized he’d basically been glaring in Rora’s direction for the last few seconds. He turned his attention away from her and back to Wynne, giving her what he hoped was a normal, casual smile.

“Oh, you know,” he said. “Just thinking.”

“I hope it was about something pleasant,” she said.

Her voice was even, but he noticed her wiggle her eyebrows before she walked away. She really was evil. But, he had more important things to worry about now. He set his mind back to the task of finding out why Rora was seemingly so determined to keep her ears hidden.

 

He swore he’d never ask Zevran for advice—especially on these sorts of matters. He didn’t even like to ask him simple questions, given the kinds of responses he usually got. He didn’t know how Rora managed to carry on such long conversations with him. She had the patience of Andraste herself. Regardless, he needed an answer and Zevran was the only other elf available.

Alistair waited until they were on the road, and until Rora was several paces ahead of the rest of them, before he sidled up to Zevran and cleared his throat.

“Ah, Alistair,” Zevran said, looking up. “Is there something on your mind, my young friend?”

He shot Alistair a mischievous grin that made him immediately think _oh no_. They hadn’t even started talking yet.

“Well, actually, yes,” Alistair said. “I have a question for you… about… elf things.”

“Elf things?” Zevran repeated. “You are eloquent as always. Would this, by chance, have anything to do with our mutual friend?”

He nodded in Rora’s direction. Alistair frowned. He really didn’t like the way Zevran said “mutual friend,” but he let it pass.

“No,” he said. “It’s got nothing to do with her. I was just curious… do elves ever… hide their ears? Intentionally?”

“Now, that is an interesting question,” Zevran said. “Not that I know of, no. Our ears are rather difficult to hide.”

“But what about, er, lady elves?” he said.

Zevran raised his eyebrows. “Lady elves?”

“Yes, lady elves,” said Alistair. “Maybe, I don’t know, for reasons of modesty? Elf modesty?”

“Not that I know of,” he said. “But… if you are looking for my advice, would you allow me to impart to you some very, may I say, useful knowledge about my race?”

“Um… all right?” Alistair said. He immediately regretted his agreement when he saw Zevran’s grin.

“You see,” Zevran said, “while we do not hide our ears, they are rather… sensitive.”

“…sensitive?” Alistair repeated.

“Yes,” said Zevran. “Our ears are a wellspring of sexual pleasure.”

“You’re making that up,” Alistair said. His eyes flickered back to Rora, then back to Zevran. “ _Are_ you making it up?”

“Certainly not,” Zevran said. “Ask anyone. Ask our dear leader.”

He nodded in her direction again. Alistair’s hear pounded with panic at the thought of asking her something like that.

“Well, my question’s been answered,” Alistair said, a bit abruptly. “Thank you for the, er, advice.”

Zevran laughed and clapped him on the back, which stung more than Alistair would’ve expected. “That is what I’m here for,” he said.

Alistair wondered if he looked as mortified as he felt.

 

For the rest of the day, Alistair found himself keeping an eye on her, trying to catch a moment when her ears might be visible, even for an instant, then immediately looking away and chastising himself for even trying. How embarrassing it would be if she noticed.

A couple of times, he thought he was almost caught. Like when they heard rustling in the trees and she whipped her head around, staff at the ready. Mesmerized by the whoosh of her hair, it took Morrigan shouting: “Alistair! Some cover would be much appreciated!” before he realized he ought to draw his sword and fight the bandits coming at them out of the brush. Later, when they were taking a rest in a meadow to heal and grab a bite to eat, he practically strained his neck looking over Sten’s shoulder to watch as she bent to pet the dog. Her hair swished to cover her face, but still her ears weren’t visible.

When she came over to talk to him before dinner that evening, he completely lost track of what she was saying when she flipped her hair out of her face and, for a second, heart rushing, he thought he saw a pointed shape, only for it to be quickly covered up again. Blast.

“Alistair?” she said. “Did you hear me?”

“What?” he said. “Yes. Of course. And I completely agree.”

She blinked. “You agree that you’ll do dish duty with Morrigan?”

“What?” he said. “No. Is that what we were talking about?”

She leaned forward and perched on her toes, studying his face. “Is everything all right?”

“All right?” he said. “Of course. Everything is just brilliant. All sunshine and daisies.”

“All right…” she said, sinking back onto her heels. “Well, I’ll see you after dinner.”

She shot him a shy smile before walking away, robes swishing. He clenched his fist. He had to do something.

 

“What’s wrong, Alistair?” said Leliana.

He looked up to see her standing over him, her head tilted. Dinner had just finished, and most of the others were heading off to their own tents. He’d been sitting on his own by the fire, waiting for Rora and thinking. He shrugged in response.

“Nothing,” he said. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“You’ve been making very strange faces all day,” she said. She sank to the ground beside him, perched on her knees. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

He sighed. Talking to Leliana about his problems could be almost as bad as talking to Zevran. But, he could use the advice. He shifted in her direction.

“Leliana,” he said, “say you like someone…”

“Oh, you want to ask about Rora?” she said.

“No,” he said quickly. “Just… Say you like someone, and you want to ask them a personal question. But you’re worried it might be embarrassing, or upset them. Is it better to ask them, or leave well enough alone?”

“How important is the question?” she said.

“Not very. Or, maybe it is.” He scratched his head. “I’m not sure—Hypothetically.”

She re-arranged her skirts on the grass, looking thoughtful.

“Hmm,” she said. “Honesty’s key in a relationship. If you’re going to be involved with someone, you ought to be able to talk to them.”

“But…” he said. “What if asking makes you seem, I don’t know, strange?”

Her eyebrows leapt up. Why was _everyone_ doing that today?

“My,” she said. “I wish you’d be more specific. But, whatever it is, I really think you should just talk to her about it.”

He made a noncommittal noise. She tilted her head.

“Why are you so nervous, anyway?” she said. “You two are friends. You seem to tell each other everything.”

He sighed heavily.

“It’s different now,” he said. “I don’t want her to… I don’t know. Decide she made a mistake. That wasn’t a problem before.”

Leliana hmm-ed thoughtfully.

“Maybe things don’t _have_ to be different,” she said. “Just talk to her like you would have before. You two already have trust and friendship going for you. Why not build on it?”

Alistair shifted on the grass. What she said made sense. He felt some of the tension from the past day unknot, and he tried to smile at her.

“Thanks, Leliana,” he said.

She grinned and stood up. “Happy to help.” Her expression turned mischievous again. “And, good luck with… whatever it is you’re planning to talk about.”

She turned and strode away. “Ooh,” she said over her shoulder, “I’ll have to get the details from her later…”

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t—”

But she was already halfway to her tent.

 

As they walked into the forest that evening, both Alistair and Rora were quiet. As usual, she lit the way with a flame flickering on her palm, her eyes shining in the dark.

Alistair scratched his head. He kept glancing over at her, trying to summon the courage to speak up, but every time he opened his mouth the words seemed to catch in his throat.

When they finally turned a corner into a moonlit clearing, Alistair came to a stop. Rora paused beside him, letting the flame on her palm go out in the bright blue light. She folded her hands behind her back and leaned forward.

“Alistair,” she said, “is everything really all right?”

She wore a worried expression that made her small nose wrinkle. Seeing that familiar expression, something once again calmed inside Alistair, and Leliana’s words came back.

_Why are you so nervous? You two are friends._

Why _was_ he so nervous? Things may have changed, but she was still Rora. Still the funny, kind, brilliant best friend he’d shared everything with since the beginning of their journey. There was no reason to be afraid.

He glanced back down, resolved, and cleared his throat.

“So, I have a strange question for you,” he said.

Her eyebrows leapt up in alarm.

“A strange question?” she said. “Should I be worried?”

“No.” He scratched his head. “I mean, probably not. Just, last night—” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I was imagining things, but it seemed like, maybe, you didn’t want me to see your ears?”

It was hard to tell in the faint light, but he thought her cheeks had gone pink. She bit her lip, gaze on the ground. Oh no. Had he upset her after all?

“Er…” he said. “Am I… right about that?”

Rora looked up again, and folded her arms across her chest.

“If I tell you,” she said. “Will you promise not to laugh?”

He blinked, surprised by her response. But then, he placed a hand over his heart.

“I’d never laugh at you,” he said. “Not without your permission, anyway.”

She grinned slightly, and shook a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it’s not, and believe me.” He tapped his chest again. “I know stupid.”

Rora giggled, and her shoulders relaxed a bit.

“All right,” she said. “I don’t like people seeing my ears because… I don’t want to stand out so much.”

Alistair frowned. “You don’t want people to know you’re an elf?”

“No, that’s not it,” she said. “There’s no way to hide I’m an elf. I just… I don’t want people to notice them.”

Her hand had gone, protectively, to the side of her head. Alistair leaned forward, brow furrowing.

“Why not?” he said.

Rora nervously ran fingers through her hair. She sighed again.

“There weren’t many elves at the Circle,” she said. “Most of my friends were human, and they always made such a _fuss_ over my ears. Not in a bad way,” she added quickly, apparently seeing the look on Alistair’s face. “Just… they always wanted to look at them, or touch them. After years of that, I just got _tired_.”

She shrugged.

“So, that’s why I don’t like people seeing them,” she said. “I know it’s stupid.”

Alistair watched her—her anxious posture, her obvious embarrassment—and for the first time in a long while, his worries about making a fool of himself, or failing to impress her, faded into the background. They didn’t matter. At that moment, all he wanted was for her to feel better.

He moved closer, reached out, and took Rora’s free hand in his own. He squeezed.

“It’s not stupid,” he said quietly.

Her eyes were wide, so bright in the dark.

“It’s not?” she said.

He shook his head, squeezed her hand tighter.

“Definitely not,” he said. “Being different _is_ tiring. I understand.” He waved his other hand. “I mean, I don’t have, er, direct experience with being an elf or anything like that, but I understand what you mean.”

She looked into his face intently for several moments. Then, at last, her gaze softened. She squeezed his hand back, and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you said that.”

He smiled.

“Anytime,” he said. “You can always talk to me. About anything.”

His face fell then, remembering his secretive behavior from earlier.

“And… I’ll talk to you too,” he said quickly. “If that’s all right, I mean.”

She nodded, smile wide. She splayed her palm against his and leaned in closer, her weight pressing into his hand.

“Of course it’s all right,” she said. “Always.”

He smiled again, and he moved his hands to wrap around her waist and pull her closer.

When they came apart a moment later, she looked up. She still leaned against him, a contented smile on her face.

“Do you want to see my ears, Alistair?” she said.

He grinned down at her as well. “Of course,” he said. “But only because they’re yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> My Warden's ears are always covered by her hair. Like Alistair, I wondered why. This is my attempt to answer that question, which perhaps got out of hand. I blame Alistair's p.o.v. for that. And for the title.


End file.
